SubPhotographer
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Joined: 8/23/2005
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Sleep came fast. My last touches of consciousness buried in your raven hair. The cream of your skin lay against me as securely as a bud closes, under command of darkness, over its petals.
The scent I know wholly as hers invades me as does fog filtering through a forest. My reality and my dreams seldom differ, for she is both my dream and my reality. So it is not uncommon to find myself unable to determine which state I'm in. I feel wetness against my lips. Is it the touch of my Raven’s lips gently reminding me in her special way of her love even as I dream? Her scent is strong. Lips wet. Her touch, no matter my state, soothes and excites me at once. She is all things to me, complete in ways no human could be. Yet she loves me with a power to which I can only gasp for more.
I stir, too happy to remain still. Her voice, as sonorous as whispering fir boughs, draws me to her. I feel my face, warmed by her touch, surrounded by her skin. The sensation is too glorious to be real. Of course it has been a dream. I turn to pull her closer.
Odd? I cannot move. Has my love for her paralyzed me for good? Foolish dreamy thoughts. Again I try. Still stuck. Alarmed, I move my legs. But I can't. I open my eyes ... I think. But darkness remains. Terror flashes. I must free myself. Where are you? Are you safe? What ...
To one who cannot distinguish between dream and reality, the land between the two may be heaven or hell. So too, to love someone beyond all reason delivers one to peril. That is my love for Raven, taken to the terrifying edge of the nether world. Yet she knows this and never leaves me without her hand to touch. So it is both perilous and secure. That is the dichotomy of Raven. She has two sides: one of sweetness and generosity of spirit, which she shares with the outside world and me; and another darker side, which she shares only with me. As I find myself bound face down and blindfolded, I know she has taken me to her darker side.
I never know where we'll go when we enter Raven's world. At times, depending on her mood, it may be a silken voyage of sensuous touch. Other times, she is a lustful dragon, plunderous and remorseless as a serpent. But always, no matter where she takes me, she returns with love so powerful her abuse of me only swells my devotion. At times I feel ashamed of what she does and has me do, and afterward I can only look into her eyes sheepishly and fleetingly. Yet her eyes always reveal her appreciation and her touch assures, and in the end I feel neither ashamed nor abused, only loved and cherished. That is how it is with us. For we both have two sides. A side of each reserved only for the other. I am for her; she is for me; we are for us, and nothing and no one can divide our faith nor penetrate our love.
Raven's soft voice--"Wake up, my darling."
It is still late at night, I think. It should be Saturday, or maybe Sunday. I have been held by her spell so long, at times days become nights ... dreams ... reality ... then back again, till I have no idea which is which, nor do I care, as long as I am with her.
We are in our room. It's secure as a tomb and just as black. Raven had me soundproof it. No sound enters and none goes out. That's how she wanted it. It is our sanctuary. Along the perimeter of the ceiling, I installed lights behind a shroud, so that the light is soft, yet enveloping. At the turn of a dial, Raven can color the lights to suit her mood. Her favorite is purple, but at times she chooses red or even blue. I know her moods now, as one knows the taste of his lover. And I know when I find myself bound this securely, Raven the dragon lays waiting.
I wonder if she can hear my heart thundering as she shifts to bring her lips nearer my mouth and her thighs more snuggly over my cheeks. Whenever she does this, I cannot help but smile at the thought that I would be as helpless were I not bound. She knows my dark side and she understands her power. When our dark sides meet, she knows she can take me wherever she chooses.
"Come to me, my darling."
Off the ledge into the darkness, without knowing where my feet will fall. I go as she leads, secure that she will never take me where we can't return.
“Taste me,” she urges. I let you sleep because I thought you would need it. But it has been difficult for me to wait, and now you have much to make up for.”
I know every fold of her. Each crease an intersection in a maze. Her outer lips swollen, fierce as a dragon’s crest. I allow my lips to brush hers and feel more than hear her tiny sigh. I can tell when my Raven reaches this state by her aroma. She fills the room with sex. And I become intoxicated by it, as if she infuses her lust through my nostrils into my brain. My tongue separates her folds and she feigns resistance no longer. She is mine. I am hers. Her pussy, profoundly mine. My tongue rules her now as an expert horseman rules a stallion. Her hands grip my head and attempt to direct me. But I control my tongue and I keep it from the tiny bulb that aches for attention. She knows our familiar duel.
I hear her whine, “You bastard…” Without looking, a smile shared.
Resigned, her hands relax and caress my hair and neck. I lick her lips fully and greedily, savoring the delight of her slick cunt. Inside her lips, I trace a parallel path toward her clit. I will not touch it yet, which she knows; she has acquiesced to patient pleasure. To extend my control of her sweet cunt, I go up and down the sides of her clit, careful not to touch the delicate pearl, while extending fully to the bottom of her crack, then back, again and again. It is lustful licking and she enjoys it so. Her hips move to a rhythm from within her. It is as if I can hear her music, for I feel joyously in tune with her cunt. I can vary the tempo of our song by the careful application of my tongue. We continue this lovers dance, from stanza to stanza, a steady lyrical flow.
Then suddenly her body shudders like the timbers of an ancient mine giving way to the forces of the earth. Her legs tremble. She moans. Her thighs tighten around my head. And now I suck her kernel between my lips and let her ride my tongue as wave after wave crashes her clit between my lips. She wails and grabs my head so hard I think for a moment she will split it like a peanut shell. She wails again, screams, then a sob before she goes still, comatose. Her legs moving almost imperceptibly over my back in silent gratitude. My cheek brushes her thigh, acknowledging, and I gently kiss her spent pussy.
When my Raven orgasms, a lightning blast sucks the very air from the room. Her first wail hits me in the pit of my stomach and charges through my every fiber till I resonate with her as if we were two sides of a tuning fork. So strong is our connection, when she orgasms, I feel orgasmic as well.
This is never more apparent than when she takes her favored position behind me. Her lust moves her to a place where she banishes her sweet side completely. Raven the dragon. Yes, and the dragon lurks. It is why I am strapped to the bed.
I lay waiting for her recovery, knowing well her lust will collapse my will till she has fucked me and used me and her fires are left to smolder. I have learned to fuck for her. When she is like this, my role is as her bitch. I must accept whatever she needs. Of course she knows I am her willing bitch and she uses that knowledge. She understands the limits of my soul. Simply put, she uses my fetish to satisfy hers. On the dark side, we are equal but different. Yin and Yang of sorts. She plunders; I receive her. When she is spent, I am often more spent. Yet we are both fulfilled, enriched by our love that knows no definition or boundary, uniting our souls as if we were two great trees grown in a spiral--halves that can never be separated.
She does recover quickly. One moment she is comatose, the next aflame with energy. Perhaps it is her youth. I don’t know. But like everything about her, I adore her for it … usually. At times, though, when I feel I can take no more, she has reserves of lust she will not ignore. Yes, my Raven is a selfish lover. When she goes to the dark side, she knows nothing of no. Please no, only encourages her further. She delights in torment and seems to spend her every hour thinking of new ways to use me to satisfy her sexual greed. But then, I cannot conceal, when she is finished, fulfilled at last, we lay together, trembling with love, connected through our very souls. It is then, with my heart aglow, I know I am with the one person on earth who understands me more deeply than I understand myself, and my gratitude for her leaves me weeping adoration.
“I hope you didn’t think I was going to let you sleep again? You’ve only lit the fire, my darling bitch. Now we must make it burn.”
She releases the leather cuffs from my ankles and wrists, removes my blindfold, and, taking my hand, guides me off the bed. I peer around the room, regaining my senses. It is awash in purple, each object monotone shades of violet. Our sanctuary is a wellspring of functional creativity--some hers, some mine. We both love to create, and this room reflects some of our finest thinking.
Few minutes passed on our first meeting before we each began to reveal the foundation of our respective fetishes--indeed, my love can be rather direct with me--only to find our interests were not only similar, but exactly matching … in complimentary fashion, of course. She is Yin; I am Yang. I think we knew of this bond before we knew our names. Odd, yes, I know. But we are both odd. Odd to the outside world, but so completely perfect within our own. And that’s how we like it.
My eyes adjust to the light and I review the room. The bed she removed me from dominates. Four sturdy wooden cylinders stand tall like sentinels guarding its perimeter. Its strength represents security. It requires king-sized sheets, which may be satin or leather, depending on her mood. She chose a wide bed because it allows her to position me for full invitation. The mattress is a unique closed cell foam, soft enough, but quite firm--another of her requirements. I am proudest of the ingenious height adjustment I added to it. By releasing a lever, we can raise the platform from standard height to waist high. This allows my love to place my ass at the perfect height, either on my knees or standing bent over, as she chooses, with the simple shift of a lever. Needless to say, she is very appreciative of my cleverness.
Around the room I see more of our collective ideas. While other couples may share their time over things like puzzles, we team together designing our special furniture. Odd? Not to us.
In my woodshop I create. When I finish a piece, her appreciation elicits a sense of pride known only to the builders of vast ships or monuments. While I acknowledge our achievements are smaller and less significant to the world, they are in fact, within our world, monuments for us. And that is all either of us cares about.
And so it is with our “horse,” where she is leading me now. Like our bed, it is solid as a stump. She is far too vigorous to accept flimsy furniture. She particularly favors this horse because it has built-in fasteners for my wrists and ankles, and she can move the fastening points at will by releasing a clasp and refastening it at another position. This allows her many options and the reason it has seen endless hours of use. The horse features padded leather knee rests, forward mounted, which, when she locks me in place, forces my ass back toward her from the top shelf over which my torso lays. She then has the choice to latch my wrists near my knees or extended forward much like a jockey’s racing position. I think you can readily imagine the vulnerability this position evokes.
Awash in purple, her toys stand along the walls like formations of soldiers. She has categories, and she arranges them by their purpose. Smaller ones to tease, medium to excite, large to satisfy her lust, and huge to … well, leave us not go there yet. I will say only, huge is where she goes when tormented by her deepest lust and where I find myself defiled, debased, begging her for a shred of dignity. Yet that is when her hand never leaves me. No matter where she takes me, her wisdom assures our safe return.
“I do so like you in this outfit,” she tells me. “Put it on for me, darling.”
She hands me my “bitch corset,” as she refers to it. The sight of it unseats me, recalling the many times she has poured my sweat through it. Her voice has a quivering edge tonight. She paces, tense as a panther.
“Here, I’ll help you. Turn around.”
“I can do it. Just a sec--”
“No, turn around--now,” she insists.
She never raises her voice. In fact, she has the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. It is the voice of a small child. With it, she soothes me, for her voice is a tonic. Yet with the suddenness of a summer storm, her voice will take the tone of regal authority, without ever rising a decibel. I still find it confusing--you have no idea the things she commands in that childlike voice. Her doe eyes glow from a face that would make Satan himself shrink, for there is no purer angelic semblance. Indeed, she wears the countenance of an angel, with a smile that builds over her face like a sunrise and can change my mind like a lobotomy. She smiles that smile even now, and I turn on command. Resistance to her is long proven pointless.
“Sit here and give me your foot.”
I do. She takes it and begins to slip a stocking over my leg. Her hands slide up my thigh and I can feel the slightest tremor to her touch. “You seem anxious, my love. Are you all right?”
She pauses and looks at me. My heart melts, for without a word, she tells me she is safe and thanks me for asking. All with a glance. “A treat has arrived for you,” she says.
“And what might that be?” I never know. A treat is always a matter of interpretation with Raven.
“With our last bit of play … a bonus delivered.” She moves closer and presses her hips to my face. “Smell me.”
I know her cycle like my watch. “Sunday--It’s Sunday the 12th!”
My Raven is ravenous when she bleeds. When most women shy shamefully away, and most men retreat, we rejoice. Did I say we were odd?
“That’s right my darling vampire,” she says with a giggle only she can own. “Now give me your other foot.”
Her smell lingers in my sinuses. My love’s sex identifies her to me the way a salmon knows to swim for the source of its creation. I was created when I met Raven. I knew immediately I had never existed before. I know the moment she enters a crowded room. The smell of her never fully leaves me. I believe a mythic chef prepared her bouquet with nectar stolen from bees, forest peat, heavenly herbs, musky moss from a mountain brook, and a sprinkle of pequin pepper--a spice so fiery it melts cold steel.
“I love what these heels do for your legs. And they make your ass appear so enticing.”
I feel my calve muscles compressed--shaped, as she would say--and I am elevated 4” by the spikes. Raven likes things that match, so she has me in purple heels to match the trim of my corset. The addition of heels always embarrasses me. I cringe when she makes me parade around in them for her, which is probably why she likes them so.
She moves to me and presses her breast against my arm. I immediately want to hold her and take her nipple between my lips, but I resist moving. Raven’s rules. The feel of her hardened nipples through the silk of her bra makes a knot of my stomach. My sweet Raven has advanced degrees in cock teasing.
“Oh, we can’t have that, now can we?” Raven says, with her hand on my hard cock. “It just isn’t appropriate for my bitch to be exposing her cock, now is it? Why don’t I do something to help you? Would you like that?”
I think not, but decline to say.
“I have so many treats for you tonight. Did I tell you UPS delivered on Friday?”
“From the sex club?”
“Mmmm, hmmm. And that’s not all. I failed to mention, I exceeded our toy budget this month. I hope you don’t mind. You do want me to be happy, don’t you, darling?”
“How happy are we talking about?”
“Very, very happy,” she whispers.
Her hold on my cock remains as leads me to the adjoining bathroom. I’m still wondering what exactly has made her very, very happy.
“I had the most incredible idea when we were shopping online. I do so love shopping with you. Remember that kinky shop in New York, the one with all the medical apparatus?”
“Uh, huh…”
“Well, I started thinking about using those enemas we looked at. Then I started thinking how much I enjoy peeing and having you lick me. Then I started thinking about fucking you. So just imagine if you put all those thoughts together … Well, I’m sure you can understand why I got so horny thinking about all that. So that’s why I had to order the extra toys. You do understand, don’t you?”
“I understand. But we can’t have every toy in the universe.”
“Oh, stop. I don’t want every toy in the universe. Just the ones I need,” she giggles.
“Okay, okay,” I sigh. It’s just not fair when she giggles with that face.
“Come here, my darling bitch, you need some lipstick.”
She likes to put lipstick on me when she has me dressed and wants me to eat her pussy. She loves how it smears over my cheeks. When she is especially motivated, she even adds make-up and a whore’s wig. I hate the wig.
When she finished painting my lips ‘cocksucker red,’ as she calls it, she reaches for her make-up kit.
“Make-up, too?”
“Well, of course. This is a special occasion!”
Saying no to her when she is in this state is like swimming against a surging current. I can put out the effort, but I end up going backwards anyway. I didn’t make her this way either, just in case you think I dug my own pit. She came by her spoiling naturally. Trust me, her charm can make a viper blink.
I watch her in the mirror as she absorbs herself with transforming my face. I hadn’t noticed before, but it appears we are matching. She also wears a black corset with violet trim. But what her body does for it is altogether different than mine. If Playboy ever does a story on Goddess Poets of the US, she’d be on the cover. Her body doesn’t have an awkward angle. I’ve studied her from a thousand positions--some not of my choosing--and there is no one good side--it’s all good. I won’t even torment you with the details, but just imagine the most irresistible Pet of the Month you’ve ever seen, replace her face with Snow White, and that’s my Raven. There you have it. Simple as that. However … Raven has two sides, and Snow White is but one of them.
I knew it was coming.
“Look what else I picked up, darling.” She places a long black wig over my head. The curls fall to my shoulders. “Isn’t it adorable? Look!” She directs my attention to the mirror.
“We match,” I say dryly. She knows I hate wigs.
“Just perfectly!” another giggle.
“Was this your extravagance?”
“Certainly not. You know I’m much more practical than that. Shame on you. Now take off your heels and stand in the tub, my love”
I do.
“Turn around and lean forward against the wall.”
Her hand slides over my ass and between my thighs, and I feel the knot in my stomach.
“Stay like that. Don’t go away,” she says cheerily, patting my cheeks.
I hear her rummaging behind me. Then the familiar sound of her harness buckles.
“I hope this works well.” More rustling.
“What works?”
“My new toy, of course.”
“What new toy?”
“Be still. You’ll find out soon enough.”
I hear her flip the top of the K-Y tube. Very familiar. And then the cool touch of her hand between my cheeks. She is liberal with her touch. Her slick finger finds my bud and she is inside me as surely as a piston slides within its cylinder. After gently opening me, she removes her finger, and quickly replaces it with a slender object. I feel it slide into me until its base seats against my cheeks. I can hear her breathing, deeper and quicker. Then the thing inside me expands as she squeezes a bulb. I realize now, it must be an inflatable buttplug. Interesting sensation. Then a peculiar hissing sound. Her breathing more rapid. A soft sigh. Her hand on my hip.
“Do you like that?”
“I don’t know what it is. It feels good, though.”
“I’m peeing in you.”
“What?”
“I’m marking you as my territory. I’m giving you an enema of my pee. I had to hold it so long for you.”
Now I really feel her filling me. I don’t know what to think. I feel increasingly humiliated, but my cock seems to think it’s a great idea. Big head, small head--terrible communication.
“Look,” she insists.
I turn to see her holding a rubber cap over her pussy from which a tube leads to my ass. I feel her filling me now. She forces the stream, and my bowels feel the intensified flow. The pressure is building and I feel the sign of a cramp.
“Just a little bit more. Now you are officially marked as my bitch. Don’t you love this toy!”
The thought of my Raven’s pee inside of me, in some perverse way, seems ridiculously appropriate. Did I tell you we were proud perverts. Snow White indeed. And if there were not suddenly so much of her pee inside me, I think I would be more agreeable to the idea.
“I’m too full, Hon. Please stop.”
“Nonsense. Now be a good boy and thank me.”
“What…?”
“Okay, don’t. But you will.”
She removes her hand from my hip. I hear the snaps of her harness. Oh Jesus…
“I’m going to deflate the bulb and remove it. Don’t you spill a drop or you’ll be punished.”
She releases the bulb and I clench my sphincter. Then it slides out. Some relief.
“Good boy. Now for your reward. Push back toward me.”
I do as she says. Her fingers around my hole guiding her cock. Pressure … she is in me, past my resistance. I moan loudly. Holding my hips firmly, she makes one steady thrust of her powerful hips and sinks her toy completely inside of me. Her arms hug me tightly, pressing her breasts against my back. Her hips steadily sliding her cock back and forth like a metronome. She bites my neck and ears. I am delirious with suffering and pleasure, legs shaking, my entire body quivering, emotions, bittersweet and sublime.
“Thank you, my darling,” I whisper, as if the words came echoing from far away.
“You really need more practice in heels. I’m going to have to give you regular slut lessons. You do want to be appealing for me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I stammer. It’s not only the heels that make walking difficult. My legs have the strength of a newborn calf. Dizziness makes each step as tentative as if it were my first. And I feel strange. The very thought of being marked as hers by her pee leaves me confused, while undeniable aroused. I feel humiliated, yet strangely assured of her devotion. And so, while I am dizzy and confused, I am as well, comforted and secure in the mysterious windings of my Raven’s spell.
“Good boy. Now walk across the room and let me see how you entice me with that ass. If you do it well, I may have another treat for you,” she says cheerily.
A treat?
Somehow the excitement and pleasure she derives from making me do these things inspires me enough to overcome my embarrassment. I feel ridiculous, yet driven to please her. She delights in keeping me on the edge of resisting one while wanting the other.
Each of us knows the bittersweet blend of shame and desire, of humiliation and passion. She has sculpted her granite integrity from the brutal tests of loss and shame. It is why I trust her as I do. That she had emerged from a tragic and sordid childhood to become an icon of womanhood told me all I would ever need know of her character.
When we met it was as if colossal magnetic forces thrust us together in a seamless bond of personalities, so perfectly matched, so closely formed, we learned to breathe as one, while thrilled and scared and disbelieving it could be possible. We no longer question. We are one, two equal sides joined, as surely as a diamond is formed of coal by pressure and time. And indeed our love is as a diamond, fashioned from a thousand, thousand facets. Where the light of life’s forces tries to penetrate us, we deflect all, while flashing fire with the defiance of a jewel. We are one to the world and perfectly devoted halves to each other. My adoration of her--for all she has endured, for all she has become, for all she is to me--knows no limits.
So of course I walk for her, with cheeks burning crimson, stepping and swinging my hips as alluringly as I can manage. She knows I will do anything to make her smile. Bitch.
“Okay, that’s not too good, but we’ll work on it another time.” I feel the color sizzling in my cheeks. “Come over here.” She is standing next to the bed securing buckles to the foot posts. “Climb on and lay on your back.”
I sit on the edge as directed and lay back, my butt at the edge, my stockinged legs dangling off the end, purple heels resting on the floor. I know the position. One of her favorites.
“Give me your foot,” she says, holding a fur-lined, leather cuff. She cinches the leather binder around my ankle, securing one leg and then the other with the practiced ease of a journeyman. One at a time, she draws each leg upward and outward by rope through pulleys anchored at the upper corner posts, makes final adjustments, then ties off each side. She steps back to admire her work, a lurid smile on her sweet face.
Sometimes she fastens my arms, sometimes not. Lust determines which. If she leaves my arms free, she wants me to tenderly hold her and caress her as she takes me. It is sweet, sensual fucking that feels languid, unhurried, and lyrical as a song.
Other times she is possessed by forces even she cannot explain. It is as if Lucifer himself invades her soul and, bowing to her demonic lust, she chooses the cock of a horse. She will then bind my ankles and wrists such that I can resist by no more than a squirm and she will fuck me huge and hard, quenching her lust with my moans, till she is spent and the demons that possess her abate.
She walks away and in the soft regal light of her lair, her legs appear sleek as a stallion’s. The sculpted muscles of her thighs frame her bottom, which appears below her corset perfectly smooth and graceful as if drawn by a French Curve. She reaches to select a soldier from its shelf. Her back faces me, but I hear the snaps that unite the cock with her hips. She she is standing at the end of the phalanx with the huge soldiers of Lucifer. I know now, as well, my wrists will be bound.
“Close your eyes and do not open them until I tell you,” she commands. Her back still faces me. Her voice not louder, but stronger. I close my eyes, imagining her eyes glowing in the darkness. I hear her heels click across the wooden flooring. She stops at the foot of the bed. “Give me your hand.” I obey, and she quickly secures my wrist with a leather cuff. “Don’t make me ask for the other.” I don’t dare. She swiftly locks down my last hope of escape.
My wrists are fastened alongside my hips, pinning my arms to my sides. From this position, it does me no good at all to struggle. If I pull with my arms, it only presses me further onto her cock. She has left a slight amount of slack for my legs--not enough to move much, but enough for her to watch me struggle when she takes me.
“And now for your next treat, my bitch.” Raven climbs onto the bed and straddles my head. Her pussy is pressed against my mouth. I feel the pad underneath her panties. “Breathe deeply, my love, and melt my bloody cunt with your breath.” She has me nearly smothered as she grinds herself onto my face. Her scent drives me wild. I gasp for air filtered through her panties and bloody pad. “Would you like to lick my blood,” she taunts.
“Yes,” I gasp. She loves to smear her blood over my face. There is something primal about it for both of us.
She sits on my chest and pulls her panties down to her thighs. Then slides forward, placing her lips squarely over my mouth. Her thighs tremble against my cheeks. I know she is beside herself with lust. My tongue probes to taste her metallic richness. I hear her moan and she rocks gently side to side. The heat from her body, funneled through her cunt to my lips strips my brain of function. I want only to consume her.
“Enough for now,” she says, as she rises from me. “Open your mouth.” I feel a string against my tongue and a tube touching my lips. “Take it and hold it between your teeth.” Then I feel her settling over me, sliding onto the tube. Her pussy sucks the tube inside her and she presses herself over my face--inserting her Tampax with my teeth. I feel utterly humiliated, yet sensationally aroused. What will she think of next… ?
She rises from me and removes the tube from my lips. Then removes her panties. She lifts my head and slips her panties over it, positioning her pad directly over my nose and mouth. “Something to tide you over,” she says. I breathe deeply, oddly pleased by her gesture. “Oh, you can open your eyes now,” she laughs.
I hear her engage the bed’s elevator and feel the platform rise. Now I understand why she held off her orgasm. She says there are times when nothing satisfies her as fucking me does. And she is not satisfied easily when she’s in this state. It will be a long night.
Bathed as I am in the bouquet of her sex, I feel a sense of calmness, of oneness with her I never imagined one could have with another human being. Each day with her, each hour and minute, furthers the notion we exist only for each other. At times I must travel for work, and if she cannot join me, I am disconsolate until I return. She tells me the sadness I feel on the road helps my work, for some of my most haunting photographs have emerged from our separations. She has her own well of sadness and secret turmoil, buried in her past, the details of which she reveals to no one but me. I urge her to explore her unrest when she writes, as a cathartic tool, and use the result to pound her emotions into her readers’ consciousness. She does this brilliantly, but there are days when the grief and guilt she uncovers leaves her with emotions she can release only with me. Often they coincide with her period. Afterward, when she has quieted her demons, we collapse and cling to each other desperately, tearfully, before flowing into a very long sleep. When we awaken, it is as after a great storm, when the sky, thrashed clean of debris, opens vibrant and clear, revitalized.
“Goodness gracious, aren’t you a sight!” she chirps.
How can she say ‘goodness gracious’ while wearing a foot long cock? Only my Raven.
Her fingers begin tracing converging paths down my legs. She has the gentlest touch and I feel my whole body relax. Repeatedly, she moves her hands over my legs till I am aching for her touch on my cock. Knowing her affect on me, she bends forward and takes my aching cock with her lips. She begins biting the head softly, while flicking the tip with her tongue. Then continues down the shaft with her tongue. Her hand takes my balls and squeezes while she sucks the head of my cock. She increases the pressure of both till I moan. Then harder yet till I gasp, “Please, Raven, stop!”
I should know better by now. She continues to hold me balanced on the fine edge, taking me higher and higher. To the brink of orgasm, where I strain for release, only to throw me off the edge as she presses her thumb into my balls.
“Are you ready to take my cock?” she says softly.
“Oh God, yes!” I plead
“You do sound ready,” she laughs. “That’s good, because I can’t be gentle tonight.”
Can’t?
She cradles my balls and begins to wind them with a silken sash. In a moment she has my balls cinched tightly, bulging from the sack and aching as if she were still squeezing her hardest. Continuing, she loops the sash around my cock and draws my balls and cock together in a tidy bundle, which she ties off in a bow. Ever neat, my Raven.
In her hand, I see a riding crop, and my pulse pounds. She begins tapping the handle on my balls. Then the crop end, directing slight swishes to both my cock and balls. I struggle wildly to get away.
“Do you like my new toy?” she say, with the sadistic joy of an interrogator. I am afraid to respond--neither yes nor no seems correct. “Okay, don’t respond. I must assume you love it.”
She takes my balls and squeezes and pulls, while at the same time, she snaps her crop over my ass and loins. “Oh my God, stop, stop … stop,” I plead. But she continues with ten strikes, until my ass stings with fire.
Then she lays her cool touch over my bottom. It is as a balm, soothing the sting as surely as a mother’s love to a child. Her touch returns to my thighs, caressing me beautifully. Her other hand wetting me, preparing for her entry. Given to her earlier assault, she opens me easily. She has stripped away all resistance.
I look up through the sheer silk panties that cover my face to see her rubbing the pole attached to her hips. I gasp, silently, and wonder as I have countless times, how a remorseless goddess can cohabit with an angel. Of course I know the answer. It just doesn’t seem possible. For Raven is not one person, but two. As I. We are the same.
Anyone who finds his true soulmate in life has overcome the mathematical odds equivalent to hitting the lottery. But for a man and a woman to find two soulmates within each other, well, the multiplicity of the odds staggers the imagination. And that is why I feel empty whenever I am apart from her.
I feel the tip of her cock against me. She guides it with the deftness of a hummingbird spearing its beak into a flower. I draw a deep breath, inhaling the potion of her pussy and blood covering my face. My breath seems to draw her into me, for she is past my ring and well into me before I have a second to comprehend the size of her tool. I try to relax, but it is too big to relax with. And she does not stop.
“Take it all. Take it!” she barks. “Fuck my cock, bitch.” She reaches forward and takes my balls. She holds them in one hand while slapping them with the other. I am beside myself with suffering. My balls produce a massive aching in my stomach. Yet as my attention has turned to my poor balls, she has sunken inches more into me, spreading me and stretching me to the limit of endurance. “Fuck it, bitch. You want it all--don’t you? Fuck it for me.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cry. “Oh no, fuck, fuck.” I feel her press past my inner sphincter and waves of pleasure and pain pulse as if the left hand and then the right alternately bang a drum. Her hips land solidly against my cheeks the way a massive ocean liner thumps to rest in its berth. I hope to expel the invader, but the only movement I can make is the involuntary shaking of my legs and hips.
She immediately withdraws halfway and takes me again, then again. She holds my thighs and grinds her pussy against me. I want to tell her to stop, but each trust takes the breath from me. It is all I can do to gasp for air through her cunt coverings.
“You love it, bitch. Don’t you? Fuck my cock! Fuck it good, and I will let you suck it when I’m done. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.”
I think for a moment she is truly possessed, and I become frightened by her state and my vulnerability.
Yet at that very instant, her touch becomes softer. “I love you, Ted,” she says, in the voice of Raven, my love. I know she has never left me. I am calmed, renewed.
She resumes fucking me. And now I respond. I want her love so badly. I want her cock. I want her inside me. I want her. She understands, and she gives me what I need, and takes what is hers. Her movements become faster and more erratic. I hear her panting as she claws my legs. She moans--just once. The first signal. I know the stages of her orgasm as one knows the bars of a favorite melody. Her thrusting becomes uncontrolled, faster and harder. Her hair swings. She holds my legs tightly and presses herself into me. I moan, so close to orgasm. The return of my moan does it. She cries out, falls forward onto me, her hips convulsively humping. She shrieks, then rapid moans--gasping. Her legs shake as she clenches my body, then shimmer diminishing spasms till she lays still, as serenely as a forest pool closes over a tossed rock.
As if awakening from a great sleep, she stirs, and begins to slowly move her parts. She lifts the panties from my face and kisses my lips. She tastes her blood. It can be something as slight as a whisper or a glance or a fragrance in the wind with her, but often the tiniest things may light her cravings with the immediacy of a switch. The moment she kissed me and smelled her own sex, she became restored. I could feel her body go from slack to empowered, as if she had taken an injection of adrenaline. Her belly presses my trussed cock and balls, and she is aware of the sensation. She begins rubbing herself on me, her firm belly tormenting my balls, while her pole continues to own my ass. Her lips have brought her tongue to mine and we kiss hungrily, deliciously. I love to kiss her. She has dozens of kisses, some sweet as a kitten’s nuzzle, some that last endlessly, breathlessly, seemingly for hours. The machinations of her belly stroking the tip of my exposed cock, combined with her passionate kisses, and the movements of her huge cock in my ass, take me to the brink of orgasm. I tense and try to increase the friction, humping what little I can. Her breathing and movements tell me she is on a similar journey.
When I am but moments away, she bites my lip hard and pushes off me. Her timing and inconsiderateness stun me. She is such a bitch. “No!” I scream. “You can’t stop now. Please let me come. I can’t stand it. Please darling, please give me this much. I beg you.”
“Nonsense. You will come when I choose, not when you want. But I will help you settle down.” She reaches for her crop and begins steadily tapping my cock and balls, while moving her hips to fuck my ass. Again I am on pleasure’s edge--her cock saying yes, her switch on my cock saying no. She keeps me teetering back and forth in blissful, excruciating agony until I feel I will explode.
“Please, Raven … No more … I can’t stand it …Stop,” I plead to her deaf ears.
She does stop, however, but only to put the switch aside and torment my balls. She squeezes each nut till my belly convulses and my forehead is awash with sweat, while continuing to assault my ass. The muscles of my ass have adjusted to the width of her cock and the stretching no longer causes me pain. But the depth of her stokes reaches past my inner sphincter and into my colon. With each thrust, I feel turned inside out. Every stroke sucks the strength from my legs. Her cock feels alive in me as if demons rush out from her, through her pole, and into my core. The abuse she charges to my balls somehow hits the same part of me as her cock. A double hit, the measure of an unexpected blow to the solar plexus that empties the lungs and robs ones will to fight. I submit to her completely, and gasp a huge moan that becomes a sigh, with no mental or physical reserves left to do anything else. I realize at this very moment, this is where she needed to put me, in her complete control with no will to resist her own.
“That's it, baby, let it go. Give it all. Take it. Be mine. Take it all. Fuck. Forgive me …" she cries, as she begins to thrust faster. Her hips slap into me. She holds my thighs tightly for leverage, humping madly. Unintelligible guttural words spit from her lips, as if Satan uses her voice. I am beyond pain, floating, as if I have left my body behind for her. Times ceases as a dimension. From a space far off, I see her deep within a tunnel. She is there at the source of light. An aura of brilliance surrounds her. I see her movements as eruptions on the surface of a boiling sun, a molten body of fiery energy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”--she screams--“Forgive me, fuck, fuuuuuuck.”
In the darkness, I stir. I have no idea the day or time. Perhaps it is tomorrow or still yesterday. I feel her breath on my shoulder. Her breathing regular and smooth. She has released my wrists and ankles, though the cuffs remain. I bring my arm around her shoulders and she draws closer, holding my body and linking our legs like doubled scissors. She presses her cunt to my thigh and murmurs, “I love you.” Then falls into her coma.
I whisper, “I love you, Raven,” though I don’t know if she hears me. Seconds later, she presses into my thigh. She has.
“Welcome back, she coos.
“Goodness, that was fun! I just don’t know what came over me,” Shirley Temple’s voice confesses.
Goodness…? Shirley Temple with a strapon. I can’t hide a smile. She is prancing about the room like a colt feeling its legs. I love to see her so happy. Her joy lifts me when I am blue and renews me when I am weary. But when she bleeds, as now, she is voracious, and I just try to hold on.
“I put out some fruit. You’d better eat. You’ll need your strength,” giggling.
I’m exhausted and sore all over. I take a handful of orange sections and absently pop one into my mouth. I don’t know who invented oranges, but it was a hell of a good idea. I chomp on a few more. The rush refreshes me. They disappear and I reach for another handful.
“What are you doing?” I ask, performing magic with the orange sections.
“Oh, just a few preparations. Don’t be so nosy. And don’t eat so fast.”
“Yes, dear.” Now I giggle.
“Smart ass. You’re gonna get yours.”
“Thought I already did. When’s my turn?”
“Oh, you can have your turn … later. I haven’t finished with you.”
She turns and walks toward me. I would love her just as much if she were ugly, but fortunately that isn’t necessary.
She pirouettes before me. “You like?”
“Ummm.” I won’t be that damn easy.
“That’s all you have to say,” she pouts.
I can’t take my eyes off her. All the tiredness is gone. She really can be impossible at times. I try to look away, but her eyes freeze me like a stupefied deer in the road.
I remember selecting her outfit at Victoria’s Secret. Great store. Everything they sell comes in purple and black. But seeing a bra and garter on a store mannequin did not prepare me for the way she looks. Mannequins don’t have her cleavage. Mannequins don’t spew lust like a hissing radiator. And mannequins sure as hell don’t parade around with a cock the size of a deli salami.
“Tell me you are joking … No way!”
“Get on the bed.” No more Shirley Temple.
“You wouldn’t dare. You can’t! I’m too sore.”
“Don’t give me any shit. Get on the bed,” she orders.
“Can’t we talk about this?” I plead.
“Of course. Now get on the bed.”
I have no idea what possesses me to move, but I find my way to the bed. Sometimes I wonder about my faith.
“Stand here. I need to wrap you.”
“Spank me?”
“No, wrap. W-R-A-P.”
“What for?” I’m getting nervous.
“Because I want to. Now hold still.” She pulls out a box of plastic wrap and walks around me in circles till she has my arms pinned against my sides and my entire torso wrapped like a bug fallen prey to a spider. I feel claustrophobic.
She guides me to the bed. “Sit.” I do. “Now lay back.” I land with a thud on the mattress. I can’t move a muscle.
“I thought we were going to talk?”
“We will.” She lifts my leg and clips a snap to the ankle cuff, then pulls it up. The other leg is fastened likewise. She shifts the ties on the upper bed frame till my legs are spread ingloriously wide.
“I don’t like this. Come on, let’s talk,” I say.
“Okay talk,” she says curtly.
“I feel uncomfortable. Let me go.”
“Anything else?”
“Just that. Let me go.”
“No. Anything else?”
“This is not funny, goddamn it. Let me go.” I begin to panic and frantically try to wiggle free of the wrap. I can’t budge it.
“Well, I agree--it’s not funny, it’s functional. And I think you look just perfect. Pretty strong stuff that Saran Wrap, isn’t it. Guess that’s why it’s used by more moms than any other brand. Wouldn’t you agree?
“By the way, you look incredibly sexy when you struggle. Oh sorry, did you want to talk more…? Well maybe this will help you express yourself.” She brings her crop hard across my ass.
The sound registers before the pain. “Yeeoooow!”
“Oh, new words,” she says charmingly. “You do know how to please me. I so love new words.”
She rapidly strips my ass and thighs till I am on the verge of crying. I try to escape but every movement I make exhausts me further and only incites her lust.
“Let me go,” I say, panting. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go.”
“Would you rather I fuck you?”
“No! Don’t …”
The crop slices the air and my ass jumps. Three, four, five times.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! Please stop! Please--”
“If you insist,” she interrupts. I hear her stroking her cock. Then the cool touch of K-Y on my inflamed ass. She pushes two fingers in me.
“Oh God,” I moan. Too exhausted to fight.
She applies extra lubricant and forces three fingers inside me. I am still sore from earlier and my ass cheeks feel like they’ve been branded. Her fingers work till I’m relaxed and experiencing a serene floating sensation. The small head thinks it’s all quite wonderful and stands at rigid attention.
“Looks a little bigger than it did in the catalog. But I guess you noticed that too. Do you think it will fit?” she taunts.
I open my mouth, try to respond, but nothing comes out. It’s hopeless anyway.
“Well, you needn’t worry. I know it will fit.” She brings her enormous tool to my ass and teases it by sliding it back and forth like a cat toying with a captured mouse.
The bulbous tip presses against my ass as she aligns herself. Steady pressure--“Oh god--NO!”--and the head is inside me. It’s huge. It hurts like fire. She presses harder and I feel my insides give way. “Raven, stop. Please…”
“Nonsense,” she pants. “Take my cock!”
With steady pressure, rocking her hips, she inches it inside me. Then takes it nearly out and plunges into me again. Each stroke gains her deeper access. I try to think of our safe word but my mind can’t focus on a single thought besides the searing pain in my ass. I am slipping over the limit when she takes my cock in her hand. Her touch brings me incredible relief. My cock aches to be stroked. She traces her fingernail up and down the shaft. The effect is electrifying and my cock jumps as if voltage has been shot straight down the shaft. I bounce on the bed and her shaft plunges past the last thread of resistance. “Oh god … Please Raven … Please,” I sob.
I hear her moaning and breathing hard. So caught in the hold of rapture, she cannot hear me. Her hips begin thrusting in the rapid tempo that I know as her ecstasy. She takes my cock in both hands and pulls herself into me and beats a rhythm of pounding strokes up and down my cock. She climaxes quickly with a fast series of moans and gasps. Good. It is time.
My mind attempts to process the pulses of agony in my ass and the exquisite euphoria of her soft hands sliding over my cock. I begin moaning loudly and thrust with all the effort I can manage to chase down the relief her hands promise. Nothing distracts me now. I am so near bliss. In a moment I will grasp it. I strain against the plastic wrap, trashing uncontrollably. At the worst moment of my entire life, she grabs my cock and squeezes the life out of it and my orgasm withers in fear.
“No!!! You fucking bitch!” I scream.
“Not yet, my love,” she growls. I hate her. I love her madly. I am crazed with agony. She begins caressing my thighs with her gentle touch, while continuing to fuck my ass with fast hard strokes. And now I am so aware of the cannon she fucks me with. Each thrust feels as if it hits my belly, robbing me of every last ounce of will. She fucks me as if to implant forever her complete hold on me and to vanquish the thought of any female who has preceded her. This she has succeeded in beyond even her basest needs. She has consumed me--captured my heart, my mind, my every cell such that no life exists outside of her. And now she again takes my cock in her hands. Her touch is glorious, sensuous, sensationally smooth and I can feel only the desperate agony of my love for her.
She bends to kiss me and whispers her love. Her lips, soft as a pillow, strip me of my pain. My face floods with tears and my body wracks with uncontrollable sobbing. Her lips on mine jolt my body--Bang! Bang! Bang!--like a fibrillation. I feel as if she has sucked inside her every need I have ever owned. I am left needing her love more than water or air.
“Please don’t stop, Raven,” I beg her. Her hands rhythmically stride over my cock as her trusts continue. “Please let me come.”
“You may come now,” she responds.
“Oh god, thank you,” I cry. “Please don’t stop…”
Her steady strokes bring me to the edge. The vigorous trusting of her cock in my ass holds me teetering. I labor for every ounce of concentration. I feel as if my whole body will burst apart like an overripened fruit.
Then it comes. The instant a man knows as the moment no force on earth can defeat his orgasm. Her strokes continue steady as an engine.
My orgasms build from my legs, then erupt through my hips and belly, before blasting from my cock. This time, however, I could feel it well in my heart and choke in my throat. My tears continuing as if I were a baby drawing his first breath. As it hits, my entire body levitates from the bed, crashing back and up again as each convulsive shock wave tears through me. My come spurts through her fingers as if propelled by a jet. Her hand, slick with my come, continues to slide over the head of my cock in synch with her relentless pounding of my ass. She moans. Telltale.
She is again in the grip of her demons. In her own space, neither hearing nor seeing, her hand reflexively stoking my cock head. Overload!--excruciating--bitter--pleasure--pain.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I scream. “Stop, stop, please. No.”
She cannot hear me, or if she does, she does not listen. Her hand continues pumping faster and her hips go wild. She functions in a trance like a haywire robot. Perhaps it is the demon she must chase. No matter, she maintains the inhuman coordination, simultaneously stoking and humping. I barely hear her moans far away when my body gives way and all is black.
An hour or a day later, when I return, she is still in me. Her hair matted over her face. Her body shiny with sweat. Her head swinging side to side. And she fucks and moans and screams and fucks and moans and cries and fucks and moans and rasps, “I love you, Ted,” as she continues to rid her demons.
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